Patchwork Memories
by Windchimes of Maple
Summary: Amortentia: It causes a powerful infatuation or obsession in the drinker. It has a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from it in characteristic spirals. "...and then the universe tore apart."


_Everything in this universe had a pattern, a reason, a set design. Things didn't just randomly fall into place and start working together, like two puzzle pieces pushed together. _

_There was no room for chance, not now, not ever. It's the way the universe worked, because one pattern, sprung from another, sprung from another. _

_Because nothing was ever unreasonable, or out of the blue._

* * *

"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley, over here -!"

"How does it feel to –"

"Leave him alone!"

"Mr. Weasley, is it true that Ms. Gran –"

"Shut it! I told you, leave him –"

"Mr. Weasley!"

"SHUT UP!" came the resounding voice of a young woman, her dress robes in perfect order, not even a speck of invisible lint on them. Her fiery red hair, tied up in a messy bun, she pushed past the flashing cameras and scribbling quills, grabbing onto her slightly irritated brother's arm as she made her way past the cafeteria towards the Apparition Point, making sure that not one of the intruders got a glimpse of his swimming blue eyes.

* * *

The only sound in the room was off the gentle _tick _of the grandfather clock, and the deep breaths of the two occupants. Time seemed to stand still, not like vacuum, but like ice: cold, deadly, icy enough to burn. There was the faintest twitch in the woman's expression as she eyed the moving picture in the _Daily Prophet _, of the couple. They looked to be quite in love, his messy pale hair, falling in his eyes (her eyes) and her dark brown, somewhat frizzy curls, pulled into a messy braid. They ignored the inquiring crowd, as they made their way out of the cafeteria, and she made a soft coughing sound. Her husband leaned forward, placing his tea saucer over the photograph. She didn't look at him, but within the hollow confines of their double ceilinged drawing room, she could hear the gears clicking inside his head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, his other hand curling around the snake head cane, it's eyes bejeweled with darkest green emeralds.

"I don't understand," he said, in a hoarse voice, and she swallowed, reaching out and clutching his curled fingers, hoping they'd keep her from falling to pieces. The glint of her wedding ring – a supposed family tradition to pass onto the next bride – seemed to mock them along with the muted camera flashes from the coffee table.

* * *

_Ron._

_I hope you are doing alright. I'm sorry you got hurt. Please sign the divorce papers soon. Polygamy is not tolerated in the wizarding society and I am going to be wed soon._

_You'll find the ring enclosed as well._

_Hermione._

* * *

If it hadn't been for the two year old toddler, leaving crinkles in his shirt with his pudgy fists, he would've crushed the quill in his hand. There was the sharpest pain in his throat, as if he'd swallowed a piece of cracked mirror, sure that the faint trickles of pain through him were bleeding wounds. Her name – her Christian name- swam before his eyes, his sight taking in her curvy signature. His own name stared back at him at the edge of the papers.

"We'll find a way, there has to be a way, Ron," his best friend said, taking his son from his lap (as the toddler happily moved to the cradle of his father's arms). "There –"

"It's done," he whispered, signing his own name, and Owling the papers to the Ministry.

* * *

The wind billowing outside seemed like a howl in the early morning, the pitter patter of the rain a mere background music. There was no artificial lighting on, leaving the rising sunrays to splay shadows of the raindrop prisms throughout the room, over the upholstery, over the woodwork, over the tangled, messy sheets, and beating a pattern on their skin. Her long fingernail, painlessly dragged down his chest, playing with the traces of blond hair on the fine abs.

"They're all talking. Owling."

"Obviously," he whispered back, his thin lips, usually curled in disgust, pressing against her forehead.

"They don't understand," she said, her voice shaking, her tears swimming as she turned to look at him. He rearranged his expression to a sympathizing one as she looked at him for comfort. Instead of a kiss on the cheek or a reassuring hug, he studied her face, letting his finger tuck a brown curl behind her ear.

"Of course they don't."

"But they're my best friends, my family. Why don't they see that - that – ," she explained, shaking her head as she leaned against the torn pillows, the fabric ravished from their passionate night before.

"What?"

"I can't help myself, Draco. I'm falling in love with you."

Time stood still, like vacuum. Sucking the air out of his lungs, leaving his fingertips numb and his eyes unfocused. He pulled back, sitting up and making her look at him by tilting her chin, searching those dark brown eyes for a hint of deception. He found none.

Obviously.

He hid his smirk, placing a chaste kiss on her lips before standing up. Her dainty fingers clasped around his wrist. "Where are you going?"

"Tea," he explained, moving to the other side of the room. He poured the left over hot water from the kettle into the fine china, studying the delicately painted dove birds on the cups as he removed the vial from the pocket in the napkins. He removed the stopper, letting the honey like, venomous liquid swirl through the tea, before adding a slice of lemon and taking it back to her.

She sat up, a smile evident in her eyes as she took a sip, smacking her lips and grinning. "You're so thoughtful," she said, sighing in contentment. He nodded, secretly rolling his eyes.

"I think there's a box of chocolates as well, somewhere," he said, looking around. She giggled, uncharacteristically and he turned to her, a brow raised.

"I'm so lucky that you're all mine," she said, pushing back his blond fringe from his forehead. His strong hand clasped around her wrist, yanking her forward, sending tea drops splashing over her fingers. She winced, not breaking the stare, pain darting through her eyes.

"On the contrary, Granger, I believe _you _are _mine_," he cleared, his voice colder.

She stared at him, a hint of confusion on her face. Then she giggled, shaking her head and tucking herself in his embrace, licking the scalding liquid from her fingers as if it was ambrosia.

* * *

_Everything happened for a reason…because everything was woven in one direction._

_Until there was one little snip and the whole universe tore apart._

* * *

**Written for Blackwolf-20's forced coupling challenge.**_  
_

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.


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